Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Megan looked back at him steadily. "Let's just say it was necessary, to give her legal status in F'talezon.
I've just lately been considering moving our household to Brahvniki, a more tolerant place."
"Because Thanes and Zak are enemies; thatwould be hard for her, in F'talezon. Good of you to
consider, for her sake; no one's more helpless than a child without parents."
Megan winced inwardly.There are about three meanings in that, and he only knowsone of them.
Yet nothing he said could even be called uncivil . "Hmm." She didn't want to try to explain. "The other
consideration is that both Shkai'ra and my husband Shyll are naZak."
"All standing out like Srians in a nursery; I understand. Tell me, did you have people at home objecting
to you marrying all these foreigners?"He wants to press the issue of Sova , she thought,but he's too
polite .
"No kin that matter. I think my aunt is still alive, but I don't particularly care."
"She betrayed you?" Megan drew back blinking; he quickly added, "Ifyou choose to make it my
business. If not, so be it."
"She's the one who sold me… to Sarngeld. When I was twelve. His true name was At… Atza-trat…
zas. As near as I can say it."
"Atzathratzas?" A Yeoli tongue was somehow more adapted to Arkan words. That too-open,
too-perceptive, hunting-cat look fixed on her, trying to see inside.Maybe I should cut this short and get
out of here . But then it was off her. She twined the ends of her hair in her fingers. "Your auntsold you?
To an Arkan?Why ? I've seen what kinship means to Zak…"
"Most Zak. Not all. She was that way with my father. But me… I suppose she was tired of seeing his
shade in me, my face, or she was tired of bothering. As far as I know, a drunken impulse. I've never
cared to ask her why."
"That sounds like madness to me. Was she a drunkard?"
Megan studied the back of her one hand, held before her, for a moment.Why not trust him? I've
trusted him already with the knowledge of what I am, of the manrauq.Her hands twisted together
in her lap. Like a knife throw; risk it .
"She was a three-flask drunk. One would get her ugly, two would get her mean and three would have
her too fuzzy to aim, until she passed out. That was before she started brewing things out of her own
herbs."
"Were your parents dead by then?"
Megan felt old pain twinge, like a pulled muscle tensed. "My father got executed for Avritha's birthday
when I was ten, my mother died of fever when I was eleven."
Chevenga sat silent for a moment, entirely still. Then he said, "You've suffered as no one should." No
sarcasm, no hesitation, just the thought itself, straightforward and real.That's true. No one should . She
looked up at him.Who else in all the world could say that as a bald statement and not have it sound
puerile ? "It does you credit that you're even alive," he added.